Symbiosis
by Cheelalaucha
Summary: The stress of the war and relationships clouds Harry's judgement, and one mistake leads to disaster and what he's always wanted. HPDM, AU, Harry goes to Azkaban,parents alive, blindness, abusive Dursleys, Severitus, Independant!Harry, 30 clichés challenge
1. 01 Drink

_Summary:_ The power of the prophecy had deprived him of the chance to rest a single moment. The stress of the war and relationships clouds Harry's judgement, and one mistake leads him to an adventure even more complicated than his own life. HPDM, AU, challenge response, multiple eras, Harry goes to Azkaban, parents alive, temporary Female!Harry, abusive Dursleys, Severitus, Independant!Harry, MultiAnimagus!Harry, plus many more.  
Set during OotP, not after.

_a/n:_ The fic will be rated R (M on here) because of serious harm and the disturbing thoughts that come with the part about Dumbledore's illegitimate daughter. ;-) The requirements for the challenge are listed in the HP forums -->Topic Count--> Writing Challenges. There's around 37 cliches to fulfill in the challenge. We started the fic off with Harry's attempted suicide, with a splash of Harry/Hermione. Overall, this is a Harry/Draco piece, from the next chapter, on.

_Challenge Response: The Challenge to End All Challenges  
Challenge By: Eine Kleine Katze_

* * *

Symbiosis  
By Naycit and Tilly

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_HP-DM-HP-DM  
-_

A leaf fell from the oak tree under which Harry was seated and landed on his lap. He eyed it before taking it in his left hand and throwing it away. At that precise moment, a soft breeze began to blow and the leaf never touched the ground. It began to fly away haphazardly, with no direction in which to go, lost, dragged into doing whatever the wind felt like making it do.

Harry snorted at the irony of the case. Whether he wanted it or not, whether it was his choice or not, as Dumbledore had put it, the truth was that Harry shared the same fate as that leaf. He was bound by his destiny, to that accursed prophecy that Sibyll Trelawney had been kind enough to make for him. He had no choice but to follow the path that had already been created for his sole use. The power of the prophecy had deprived him of the chance to rest a single moment. From the day he learned that he was a wizard, that fateful day in late July when he had turned eleven, he had never had a moment of peace… not a single one.

The closest he had felt to being at peace was that night, a few weeks ago. He remembered it well. He and Hermione, on the top of the Astronomy Tower, stargazing, oblivious to the sounds of the other couples that frequented said tower.

He was delightfully listening to her melodic voice as she told him the story of each star. He hadn't caught a single word, nor seen which star she was talking about at which time. All his senses were focused on the fact that her body was warming his.

"And that over there, that's Cygnus, the North Cross as some put it. It's a swan, can you see its shape?" Hermione pointed one delicate finger upwards at the simmering sky.

He had nodded nonchalantly, his eyes never leaving her lips as she talked and gestured.

"Are you even listening to me, Harry?" she had asked, and he had ignored that question entirely, sealing his lips with hers.

"No, I can't say that I have," he had told her as they broke the kiss. She had given him a nervous smile and turned her eyes to the sky again. It had felt so magical, so joyous. It was as if life had finally decided to give him a break.

Indeed, it had for a while, but it turned out to be a heartbreak in the end… and he had discovered it just the next day. What wouldn't he have given to remain kept in the dark? It wasn't that he liked to be blind, so to speak, but it gave his heart a reason to continue beating. He had been so happy believing that she really loved him back.

Why did Peeves have to block the way, forcing him to use the shortcut on his left? Why hadn't he just complied with the poltergeist and set his pants on fire? Why did he _have_ to pull the curtain aside? _Why_?

A lonely tear fled from his eye, and Harry hastily wiped it away as the image that tormented his sleep came to the forefront of his mind once again.

Hermione… his beloved Hermione, looking more beautiful and happier than ever. And his best friend (_yeah right, his best friend_), Ron, kissing her fiercely.

The sound of their deep bond didn't let them hear when Harry stepped into the dark corridor. Their eyes closed in ecstasy didn't let them see when he approached. But then he sniffed, tears prickling in his emerald-green eyes already. At that, the pair had broken apart hastily. Ron had locked eyes with him, terrified and guilty. But _she_, oh she… she hadn't even looked up from the floor. She hadn't had enough courage to face him, to confront the sadness in his eyes… in his heart.

No, she had ignored him and let him walk away, cursing the poltergeist all the way. He had expected, hoped, that she would run after him, begging him to let her explain, to forgive her, that she loved him. And knowing himself, he would have listened, he would have blindly forgiven. He loved her so. But she hadn't run after him. He had reached the Gryffindor Common Room, the boys' dormitory, his bed… and she hadn't come.

Ron had tried to apologize, but Harry found that he couldn't bear to look him in the face. They had fought heatedly, even resorting to Muggle dueling at one point. Only Dean and Seamus had prevented him from ripping his _best friend_ to pieces. He had stormed out of the dormitory with a bleeding lip and a sore rib.

And now he was here… alone… watching the sun set on the horizon. The warmth of the day left him, just as any warm feeling had left Harry's life when the sun of his eyes had deserted him.

His eyes were aching from the effort he was making not to cry. It wouldn't do, the Wizarding World's hero, to cry like a five-year old. No, he had to be strong. Weakness would only destroy him. He was determined to face the life he hadn't chosen with determination, with courage. He was a Gryffindor, wasn't he? Yes, he had to get over it. He had to go on.

But his determination quivered as he turned his red eyes to the Hogwarts front doors. His heart skipped a beat, or maybe two. Maybe it had stopped beating altogether.

There, crossing the lawn, walking towards him, was the fragile figure of Hermione Granger, her bushy, brown hair flying loose behind her.

As she approached, the last of the sun's rays gave her a sort of divine glow. Harry turned his eyes to the sunset again before she noticed him staring. He could only just bear it. He wouldn't be able to contain his crazy necessity to take her in his arms and hold onto her for dear life, though, if she stayed long.

Hermione sat down beside him and cleared her throat to call his attention to her, but he still refused to turn.

"Harry?" she softly called. He made no movement, nor any sign that acknowledged her presence whatsoever. "Harry, will you look at me? Please?"

Her soft voice proved too much for him, and he relented somewhat. Grudgingly, he turned to face her. "What?" he snapped, a bit louder than he'd meant to.

Hermione sighed sadly.

"We need to talk, Harry," she prompted.

_Yeah, like that's going to solve anything, _Harry thought to himself as he refused to respond aloud.

"I'm sorry," she continued. "I should have been honest with you, Harry, I really should have."

Harry mentally sneered, _Yeah, great, she's figuring this out _now_, is she?_

"Harry, please, say something," Hermione begged, but he ignored her pleading.

He just didn't get it. He couldn't understand any of it, but he desperately wanted to, and his only hope of ever being able to was about to walk away. She shook her head at his mute response, and stood to leave, when he suddenly recovered his speech.

"_Why_?" Harry whispered brokenly. He shifted his glistening gaze to stare up at hers as he spoke. "Why, Hermione?"

Hermione bit her lip, tears beginning to fall from her beautiful, honey-brown eyes, which she lowered to study the grass.

"I- I don't know," she uncharacteristically stuttered. Hermione was looking anywhere but at Harry. "It's just that—"

"What does _he_ have, Hermione?" Harry cut her off. Pushing up off the ground hard with his hands, Harry rose to Hermione's eye level. "Why is _he _better than _me_?"

He watched as Hermione took a steadying breath and hesitantly met his gaze. She was quiet a moment, silently staring at him. When she did speak, her voice was practically oozing certainty. It was the same tone she used when quoting answers from a textbook. "Harry, it's not a matter of who is better than the other. It's a matter of _love_."

"A matter of love," Harry repeated incredulously. "You think you _love_ him, Hermione?" he retorted, his voice rising considerably.

Hermione shook her head. "I know that I love him, and I can't, and won't, do anything about it." Though her words were firm, her expression was cautious. Harry had not raised his voice at her very often; it was a last resort for him. Realizing just how upset he was, Hermione began backing away from him slowly. "I'm sorry, Harry, I know I should have told you, but—"

"Oh, you should have told me?" Harry bellowed angrily. He moved forward to counter her steps, shouting. "Good you found out, congratulations! Another fact to add to that massive brain of yours!"

"Harry, please." The old, blunt Hermione was back. "I love Ron and that's all that matters. I should have told you before you began to have expectations. It's just that…" Hermione faltered for a moment before continuing her explanations in a whisper. "You looked so… miserable… and… and I…" She gulped a little, gazing at him warily. "What was I supposed to do? I just behaved like the _friend_ I am…. You came to your own conclusions…" Hermione trailed off, fearful of the dark glint in Harry's eyes that had appeared at her last sentence.

_Oh, so now I am the one to blame, am I?_

At that moment, Harry wanted nothing more than to go find Ron, hex him into a million pieces, and send the remains to Hermione for a mid-breakfast surprise the next morning. Somehow, though, he doubted that a boxed-up Ron would solve his problem with Hermione.

"So, I'm the stupid one here, right?" he spat instead. He switched his tone to mocking, discussed. "You took pity on my poor, lonely self, did you? You, _Saint Granger_, sacrificed her true love to take care of poor, miserable Harry. Oh, but that didn't stop you from snogging Ron behind my back!"

"Harry, stop it!" she demanded in her perfected Prefect voice. "I came here to apologize, and I already did that," she stated coldly, her hands on her hips. She looked positively McGonnagallesque. "There's no point on me arguing any longer! Goodbye!" And with that last shout, she turned on her heel and walked briskly back toward the castle.

Harry glared at her back for a moment, nearly boiling with fury. He attempted to rail her up with screaming, "FINE! GO SNOG THAT FOOL OF A BOYFRIEND YOU'VE GOT! FIND SOMEONE WHO CARES!" But, she ignored him entirely.

Harry turned and kicked the oak tree, only earning one more pain to add to his hurt body, mind, and soul. That was it, the weight that broke the camel's back; he just couldn't take it anymore.

He whirled around, his back facing the stone castle, and began to run, and run. He ran as if there was no tomorrow, which actually was what it felt like.

As he reached the village of Hogsmeade, Harry began to shake. The shaking had nothing to do with the chilled temperatures of autumn, however. He was beginning to fall apart and trying desperately not to. His eyes watered of their own accord, and he pressed the palms of his hands over them, willing the salty tears away.

The sky rumbled overhead with the promise of a fierce storm. Dark clouds were rapidly moving toward Hogsmeade.

Harry breathed deeply, opening his burning eyes to stare at the darkness his hands provided. He needed release, someway to forget, to escape from his cruel reality… his cruel life.

And that's how his mind landed on the Hog's Head. Harry let his hands fall back down to his sides, and blinked at the sudden light, little of it that there was. Shaking from coldness, anger, and pain, he directed his steps towards the gloomiest inn of all Great Britain.

Harry absently noticed a hooded wizard sitting on a bench across from the Hog's Head. The stranger looked over at him, but Harry's sight was so blurred from unshed tears that he couldn't make out a face.

He entered the pub and went directly to the barman. The old man didn't even look up at him. He just grunted, "What'll it be?"

"Firewhiskey," Harry replied firmly, smacking the top of the bar for emphasis. "The strongest you've got, and if it has poison in it, even better."

He had said the last bit sarcastically, but deep inside he knew he meant it. The old man slid a glass of Firewhiskey down from the other end of the bar, and Harry just barely caught it. Not stopping to think about what he was doing, Harry downed it all in one single gulp. He coughed and gasped alternately as the whiskey burned his throat all the way down.

"Another," Harry demanded of the barman. The man frowned but refilled the glass. Harry slowly sipped half of it this time, then put the glass down, thinking.

"What is it boy?" a grisly voice came from behind.

Harry spun around, surprised. A hunched-over old witch was standing behind him, and saying that she was ugly would be euphemistic. Harry had the sudden urge to bring this lady to his Aunt Petunia so that she could iron the overlapping skin that covered her face.

There were bags under her eyes, and her overlarge ears stuck out through matted gray hair. Harry stared at the pointed hat that the lady wore upon her head; it was several sizes too small and resembled the ones from his Hogwarts First Year's uniform.

"Heartache?" she rudely inquired, apparently used to the stares she was receiving all around.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, ignoring her question. He forced himself to blink and end his open staring.

"You may call me Yaga," she suggested as she took the empty seat beside Harry. The witch waved the bartender over with a distinctly impatient air about her. Harry shifted his gaze between the witch and the barman, wondering who looked more disgusted with the other. They were both pretty fierce with the glares.

The barman of the Hog's Head set a rather large mug of green slop down in front of the so-called Yaga witch. Familiar blue eyes glanced from the witch to Harry and back again with a slightly suspicious expression. Heaving a great sigh, the barman leaned over the bar to stare directly into the witch's face. "Don't do this, Yaga," he quietly bid.

Taking a large gulp of her green slop, and ignoring the barman completely, she flippantly asked Harry, "What's troubling that heart of yours?"

Harry glanced at the barman, but he just stood stiffly and glowered at the dirty old witch. "Nothing," he muttered, looking back down at his drink.

The Yaga witch didn't seem surprised by his answer, and Harry got the feeling that she'd probably done this— whatever she was doing— before. The barman obviously recognized her.

"Oh, nothing? Are you sure?" she pressed, leaning in a little bit. "Who's the girl?"

Harry raised his slowly fogging head and glared at her. She was a complete stranger, and he wasn't about to reveal the love he professed to Hermione, least of all with Voldemort still at large. This dusty old witch could be a Death Eater for all he knew!

Harry shook his head a little to clear his thoughts. The alcohol was definitely working its magic.

"Well, have it your way, then." She shrugged, finishing off her glass of slop. After a quick check to make sure the barman wasn't watching, the witch reached into her robe and pulled a tiny vial from an inside pocket. Harry could see that it contained some lilac-colored liquid.

The witch Yaga continued on nonchalantly, tinkering with the vial absently. "But... if you feel like you've had enough of it, you can take this." She paused. "It's good for these times, trust me."

And with that, the old witch left her seat and got lost in the darkness of the pub. Glancing down, Harry noticed that she'd left behind the vial on the bar top.

Taking a quick look around the room, Harry saw that no one was paying him any mind, and that the barman was tending to a rowdy man on the other side of the room. Harry snatched up the vial and pocketed it.

His thoughts were becoming more muddled with every minute, and he struggled to remember what he'd been thinking about before being so rudely interrupted. With a tiny 'Oh' of remembrance, he went to take another sip of his drink.

Realizing that he'd finished his second glass of Firewhiskey, Harry waved at the barman for more and drank it in one shot, not caring much about the obliteration of his throat.

He stood up and, after he managed to steady himself, tossed ten galleons onto the bar top and left the pub, walking with difficulty.

The barman watched with both astonishment at the carelessness of the boy and disappointment at the loss of another child. He was unable to keep the grin from his face, though, when he noticed the heap of gold the young wizard had left behind. He'd left at least eight extra galleons. Oh, the alcohol's good deeds for those who work it.

Harry stumbled out into the cold night. He shivered at the chilled breeze that blew through the little town. The hooded stranger was still on the bench where he had last seen him. The mysterious wizard's concealed eyes followed Harry all the way down Hogsmeade Main Street. Harry was unaware that the stranger had stood up and was following him at a short distance.

Harry absently noted that he had left the town and was wandering toward the Forbidden Forest. Well, who cared, he needed to hide anyway, his foggy mind reasoned.

Breathing heavily due to the effort of climbing a small mount, he groped in his pocket for the vial, finally ceasing his stroll into the forest.

What was there to lose? This was what he'd wanted, after all. Release from all the stress, the worry, and as the old witch had said, heartache.

Harry uncorked the vial and smelled its contents. No odor came in the end. Maybe he'd had too much Firewhiskey than was good for him. "Nah," he whispered in contradiction to that last thought.

"For my _best friends_," he muttered and raised the vial in a bitter toast.

Taking a huge breath, he brought the rim of the vial to his lips and tipped it up.

Only a few drops of fluid made it to his tongue before his hand and the vial were shoved violently away from his mouth and to the side. The vial and its despicable potion were wrenched from his fingers and thrown into the dirt. As it fell, the contents spilled around it and evaporated into the air.

Harry was attempting to muster the strength to yell and shout his protestations, but could not do so for the horrible stinging sensation in his throat. His blurring vision only added to his troubles.

His knees weakened underneath him, and he groped around for support. Strong hands caught hold of his shoulders and held him upright. Harry felt as if his brain were pouring out through his ears, as if everything in his head was disappearing.

Shuddering gasps were all he could manage for breathing at the moment. Harry leaned his head forward in an attempt to make sure he actually had a head, and he was almost thrilled to feel the firm body in front of him. Harry reached up weakly and grabbed the front of the robes of the person holding onto him.

There had barely been any light in the sky when he'd left the pub, the dark rain clouds overriding the sun's rays. Harry could make out some blurred shapes on the ground, and struggled to get his spine to straighten and lift his head.

Harry saw a glint of silver before him as everything else was beginning to darken. With a ragged gasp for air, he collapsed into the strong arms of the stranger. Then everything became pitch-black and he knew no more.

_HP-DM-HP-DM-HP-DM_

_

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Review...  
Next chapter: Blind! Deaf! or Mute!Harry.  
Come back to find out which we chose._


	2. 02 Nightly Visitor

Summary: The power of the prophecy had deprived him of the chance to rest a single moment. The stress of the war and relationships clouds Harry's judgement, and one mistake leads him to an adventure even more complicated than his own life. HPDM, AU, challenge response, multiple eras, Harry goes to Azkaban, parents alive, temporary Female!Harry, abusive Dursleys, Severitus, Independant!Harry, MultiAnimagus!Harry, plus many more.  
Set _during _OotP, not after. 

a/n: For now, the rating is back down to T, but later the fic will be rated R (M on here) because of serious harm and the disturbing thoughts that come with the part about Dumbledore's illegitimate daughter. ;-) The requirements for the challenge are listed in the HP forums -- Topic Count-- Writing Challenges. There's around 37 clichés to fulfill in the challenge. This chapter covers blindness and, somewhat, substance abuse. Overall, this is a Harry/Draco piece. Also found on Fiction Alley under Naycit._

* * *

_

_Symbiosis  
By Naycit and Tilly_

_Challenge Response: The Challenge to End All Challenges  
Challenge By: Eine Kleine Katze  
_Chapter 2 _" _The Nightly Visitor_"_

**HPDM**

**DMHP**

**HPDM**

_The Minister called for a vote. "All those in favor?"_

_Nearly every hand of the assembly was up in the air. This was definitely not his lucky day. Harry's gaze traveled from the Minister in the center and over to Umbridge on the left._

"_Against?"_

_There were two votes from people he didn't even know. Harry hung his head in defeat._

"_Well, that's settled," drawled the Minister with a familiar sneer in his tone. "You, Harry James Potter, on this morning of the twelfth of August, are convicted of underage wizardry in the presence of a Muggle. As punishment for your actions... there will be no meals for a week."_

_Harry's head shot up. No meals? Surely the Minister for Magic didn't have the power to deny him food. Harry leaned forward in his chair, preparing to protest his sentence, when he caught sight of the Minister's face. It wasn't Fudge. It wasn't even a Ministry official._

_Sitting upon the high seat in the center of the front row was none other than Draco Malfoy._

_Silvery eyes reflected the fire of the torches in the courtroom, and for a moment, Harry could not look away._

_Malfoy sneered at him. "You're dead, Potter."_

_Harry jumped up from his seat, but he didn't get very far before the chains were curling around his arms and legs. Harry struggled, but it was no use. He kicked and pulled and growled in fury, but none of it helped._

"_You're dead, Potter," he taunted again. "Snap out of it, Potter."_

_Harry continued to fight his bonds. He couldn't let Malfoy win! He wouldn't let himself be beaten. He had to fight! The darkness was enveloping him. He couldn't breathe..._

"_Snap out of it, Potter!"_

"Snap out of it, Potter!"

Harry felt his eyelids dart open, but he was still engulfed by his childish fear of the darkness around him. He still couldn't see an inch in front of his face, and he panicked. Somebody was breathing raggedly somewhere above him.

He was being held down by a strong pair of hands curled around his wrists, keeping him firmly pinned down with cold fingers.

"Who...?" Harry attempted to reduce the maddening speed of his own heartbeat while trying to speak out the words at the same time. He only managed to choke. Bringing his knees up to his stomach and turning to lie on his right side, he coughed roughly, searing his already sore throat.

The grip on his left wrist ebbed away, and he felt a person's weight press against his chest gently. Harry curled into himself more as his coughs turned into gasps for air. The burden on his chest started to rub his chest sinuously, trying to calm him down.

"Slow down," a voice whispered into his ear. "Take a breath and hold it," it instructed soothingly.

Harry pressed his eyelids together once more and took in a tiny amount of air. He closed his mouth to keep it in, his face creased in concentration. Something inside him protested and tried its utmost to make him take a breath. Harry held it off, though, until he heard the quiet voice again.

"Slowly... let it out..."

The air rushed out between his clenched teeth. The load on Harry's chest was still rubbing against him in soothing circles. He felt his upper body muscles unclench, and he leaned into the gentle pressure, even as he took in one long breath after the other and let each out slowly.

"That's it," came the low whisper.

Harry twisted his wrist, but the strong grip didn't budge. Finding the courage to speak again, Harry unevenly uttered, "W-who...?"

"A Healer," was the quick, yet still whispered reply. "You're very ill. I... I've just come to... er, check on you."

"Oh… W-where am I?"

"At St. Mungo's, Po— Mr. Potter."

Harry couldn't see a thing, but his ears were working perfectly fine. The voice belonged to a young male, and by the sounds— and feels— of it, he was lying on top of him. It unsettled him somehow, but he had greater worries at the moment than all those his distorted mind had come up with.

"Can you remove the bandages from my eyes?"

"Er…"

Harry personally thought that St. Mungo's didn't put much time into the training of bedside manner. The man he was speaking with – who was still lying on top of him – did not sound very encouraging about the state of his condition. A small shiver of fear ran down his spine at his lack of sight.

"What?" he demanded a little impatiently.

"Well… P— Mr. Potter."

There was the stuttering again. Perhaps his condition was so horrible that even a qualified Mungo's Healer was falling to pieces over him.

"_What?_" Harry's voice raised to a tone with equal amounts of anger and panic.

"We can't remove them yet," the man said in a somewhat steadier voice.

"What do you mean you can't remove them?" Harry's heart was hammering in his chest. _It's bad... it's bad..._ "What happened to me?"

He'd managed to shout straight into the ear of the man, and he gave a startled twitch above him. From the slight bit of air blowing on his face, the man had also shaken his head, probably in an attempt to get Harry's ringing voice to disappear.

"You drank some kind of poison, Mr. Potter. We suspect it was the Draught of Living Dead with a higher amount of hellebore than necessary." The Healer spoke quickly, most likely afraid that Harry would continue shouting at him.

Harry, in the meantime, was trying to remember back to his Potions lessons. He could just hear Snape's sneering voice in his head telling him how incompetent he was. "A higher amount of _what_?"

"Hellebore. It is a plant that is usually medicinal, but it can be fatal in higher doses."

"F-fatal?"

"Yes, fatal," the Healer's voice confirmed. "Aconite and hellebore undergo a specific chemical process when mixed. They impair the senses. In higher doses, it has been known to kill the drinker after impairing the senses. Since you only drank a few drops, you have only had minor side affects. Mr. Potter... it is my duty to inform you that the potion you sampled has resulted in blindness—"

"BLIND?" he nearly screamed the word.

Harry tried to sit up while fighting another bout of coughing, but the stranger put his hands on his chest and kept him down.

"Calm down. It may not be permanent," the Healer told him in what, Harry guessed, was supposed to be a soothing tone.

"May?" Harry asked, not sure whether to feel relieved or not.

"It will, most likely, fade along with the Drought's other minor effects. You're awake now, so it should be just a matter of hours before you recover your sight."

Harry didn't want to ask, but he felt he had to for his own sake. "And if I don't recover?"

"The Healers— I mean, _we_ expect you will. Unless the hag that gave it to you had added something else to the—"

"Hag?" Harry cut him off. He braced himself for what he was sure would be a long explanation of potion ingredients, which he would not understand as usual.

The man sighed in an impatient sort of way.

"This particular mixture is often used by hags to kill the children they eat. It seems inoffensive at first, since they usually manage to make it taste sweet."

"It didn't," Harry hurried to point out.

"I said _usually_," the Healer said quite calmly. Harry was fidgeting beneath him. Sensing his restlessness, the man finally got off him. Harry heard his feet hitting the floor as he got off the bed. "There… Feels better?"

Harry nodded nervously. If it wasn't for his complete ignorance of St. Mungo's Healers' demeanors, he might have protested. Muggle doctors usually left the soothing the patients to nurses.

Now that the man had moved away from him, Harry was more aware of his blindness as he hadn't been before. He could not tell where the man was standing and, therefore, couldn't be sure which way to turn his head.

It was strange to feel the firm bed below him and not being able to see it. It was as if everything was only half there.

His arms felt heavier, the sheets of the bed felt more slippery than he was used to, and every movement of his arms, hands, fingers, head, and toes… He was more conscious of everything... more _than usual_, and then... not. It was as if his mind couldn't decide whether it was satisfied with only being able to hear and speak, unable to see the objects he was touching.

Harry shook himself from this crazy new way of feel-not-see and asked the first question that came to his head.

"What's your name?"

The man's voice came from somewhere not too far in front of him and to the right side of his bed. The hesitance was back again, though. "Er… I'm the trainee Healer… Jason Usher…"

"Oh…"

The man cleared his throat as if just remembering himself. "Good night, Mr. Potter. I think you are quite well for the moment, so we'll just keep you under observation for the time being."

"Er… is it night already?" Harry wasn't exactly able to check for himself, and he was curious of how long he'd been here already, or why no one had come to see him besides a Healer.

"Yes."

"But I'm not tired."

"That can be fixed," the man replied curtly, as if asking for permission.

After a somewhat hesitant nod, Harry heard the swooshing of the man's wand being waved. Harry was asleep not ten seconds after that.

The stranger pocketed his wand after casting the _Pax Dormiens_ Charm. He quickly muttered the incantation to Disillusion himself and left the room hastily, almost breaking into a full race.

Two St. Mungo's young trainee Healers had both fallen asleep despite the Head Healer's strict orders to patrol the ward from time to time. The stranger reached the corridor, and making sure nobody was around with a quick glance, he turned on the spot and Disapparated with the characteristic soft 'pop' of a skilled Apparition.

**HPDM **

**DMHP **

**HPDM**

"Mr. Potter… Mr. Potter!"

Harry opened his eyes, and then closed them again in dismay. His world was still dark.

"Mr. Potter, can you hear me?"

"H-healer Usher?"

"Usher? No, this is Healer Nightingale." The voice was a female this time.

"Where's Healer Usher?" Harry asked sleepily.

"There's no Healer Usher here," she said in a tone that suggested what she thought of Harry's mental state. "How are you feeling?"

"I can't see."

To add to Harry's irritation, the woman was clinical and straight-to-the-point. She reminded him of the bossy Hermione he had known before… "I didn't expect you would," her voice interrupted his thoughts. "The results of your blood analysis are not very optimistic. Apparently, you drank Hag Draught."

"Hag Draught?"

"The Hogwarts nurse told us you had drunk something. We preformed a meticulous analysis of your blood components with Scarpin's Revelaspell and found traces of asphodel and wormwood along with high levels of hellebore. This last is not used for the common Draught of Living Dead, which your school's nurse thought you had drunk given your symptoms. Hellebore is added to create the Hag Draught. It has that name because the hags use it in the potions they give to the children before taking them away."

"Yes, Healer Usher told me that," Harry said with even higher levels of irritation.

"Of course he did," she comforted his supposedly-insane self, and then attempted to reason with him. "But the results arrived just this morning… How could he know?"

Harry frowned, both angry and embarrassed, although the bandages in his face concealed a bit of his flushed face.

The Healer seemed to take his silence as a mutual agreement of his half-wittedness, and continued with her explanation. "This Hag Draught usually impairs their senses for a while. Hags like to kill their victims by roasting them in the oven while they're still alive."

Harry winced in sympathy for the imaginary victims.

"Very few hags have been caught at it in the past. On a different note…" The woman's voice turned curious. "The nurse at Hogwarts told us that you were found in the corridor outside of their hospital wing. Can you tell us where you got that Draught?"

"From an ugly, old lady in the Hog's Head," he replied. Right then he wasn't overly worried about others knowing what he'd been up to. He'd confess anything if it helped him to recover his sight faster.

"According to the register, the only known hag in that area is Babayaga, the hag that haunts Hogsmeade. You're the third one this year that she's lured into drinking her Draught. The Ministry's been really worked up because they just can't catch her," Healer Nightingale said.

"Er…" Harry wondered what page of the _Prophet_ they dedicated to hag tales. He'd certainly never heard of an old children-eating, ugly hag hanging around the village before now.

"As a matter of interest, how much did she give you?"

"Er… a flask. Wasn't bigger than a perfume flask, actually." Just like the one he'd given Hermione for their two-month... Harry sighed in renewed heartache.

"_What?_" She evidently had a hard time swallowing this information, since she coughed uncomfortably for a few moments. "Good Cliodna! Please tell me you didn't drink it all!"

Slumping down a little on the bed, Harry replied, "No… I only got to drink one gulp."

Healer Nightingale let out a relieved breath with a comforting pat on his leg. "Mr. Potter, you were very lucky. If you had drunk it all, it would've probably killed you!"

"Yeah…"

_How horrible_, he groused to himself.

"How did you get to the hospital wing?" she prodded, seemingly unaware of Harry's gloomy thoughts.

He just shrugged in reply. What did he care how he got there? Unfortunately, this woman was not one to be ignored, and just prompted him again.

"Mr. Potter?"

"I… don't know…" He was tempted to yell, _Magic, how else?,_ right where he thought her head to be on his right side.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

_Don't snap, don't snap..._

Harry settled for ignoring her last question while he privately racked his brain for an answer. He remembered rowing with Hermione and going to the Hog's Head. Then he'd met the ugly lady and took the flask with him.

_But what then?_ Harry narrowed his sightless eyes in thought. _Oh, that's right…_

After the first gulp, he had heard somebody yell behind him and had dropped the flask to the ground. Then he'd passed out. But nothing else remained...

_Much good that does me._

Curious though, he had the strange feeling that he had seen something silvery shine above him before he'd blacked out.

_Probably the moon..._ he thought.

"Mr. Potter? Are you listening?" the persistent Healer Nightingale demanded.

He didn't respond.

**HPDM**

**DMHP**

**HPDM

* * *

**

Notes: The next bit will be up sooner than this one was. Check my profile page some time after Wednesday for the posting date of the new chapter.  
Never fear, there will be more than blindness in Harry's future, if you didn't want it to be "blind" that we picked... wink, wink. The next chapter Hermione and Ron come for a visit, there's some Ron-bashing (required, mind), and this silvery-eyed stranger's true motives and plea for help.  
So... worth waiting for a new bit? Should Harry actually find out that it's Draco? Let us know, then! Review!


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